


LISA Drabble Series

by withintemptation



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Creepy, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insect Mutilation, Multi, that's not even a tag but oh well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2020-07-27 22:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20053276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withintemptation/pseuds/withintemptation
Summary: Just my dumping grounds for all my LISA-related drabbles. More pairings and such to come. Chances are there will be a couple darker chapters down the line, but no worries—they'll be tagged appropriately.





	1. isn't freedom beautiful?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lisa gets a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so the first chapter is already...kinda dark, i guess. i imagine that lisa has an odd relationship with winged creatures like butterflies and birds and such. in a strange way, i think she's jealous of them. they represent the kind of freedom she feels she'll never get to have. 
> 
> ergo, i have the headcanon that she would tear their wings off. or clip them off or badly damage them in some way. if she can't fly away, neither can they.
> 
> let me know if i should tag anything else.

"I got something for you."

Lisa blinks, caught off guard. "Huh?"

Bernard reaches into his bag and pulls out a net. Its design is simple and blue. "It's a butterfly net." He explains, seeing the puzzled look on her face. He hands it over to her and she takes it, gaze unmoving.

"You got this for me?" Lisa asks, staring down at the net in her hands. It's been such a long time since she's recieved an actual present that it's almost hard to believe it's real. 

Bernard nods. He looks both sheepish and proud of himself at the same time. "You seem really interested in butterflies, so I thought you might like something to catch them with."

She can't help herself. A smile spreads across her face. "Thank you, Berny." He blushes and says something about how it's no problem, but her attention quickly turns elsewhere—specifically, to the group of butterflies fluttering around the flower patch. Her grip around the handle tightens. Now is as good a time as any to make use of her new net. She tiptoes over to the butterflies, careful not to make any sudden movements or loud noises.

They all look the same. Pretty little things with big orange wings and jagged black stripes, dotted with little white spots on the top. Bernard would probably know what species they are, but she doesn't care enough to ask.

A few minutes later, her net has caught a butterfly. It flaps its wings helplessly, trapped in its confines. Lisa digs her hand in and grabs it by one wing. Its other wing continues to flutter, desperately trying to free itself—in its struggle, it tears its wing. She inspects the insect, brows furrowed curiously. 

Can butterflies feel pain? What sort of noise would a butterfly make if she hurt it? Do butterflies bleed? 

Keeping those thoughts in mind, Lisa peels one wing off the butterfly's body. It doesn't make any noise. There's no blood, but her fingertips have a glittery dust-like substance on them. It can't fly away now, can it? Might as well make sure it never can. She rips the other wing off.

Without any wings to keep it afloat, the butterfly falls. It twitches and writhes pathetically on the ground. Lisa doubts it will be alive for much longer. She smiles.

"Lisa...that was kind of mean, don't you think?" Bernard asks, looking concerned and a little disturbed.

Lisa scoffs. "Don't be a baby, Berny. It's just a butterfly."


	2. you've got to have a sense of humor about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i decided to write something lighthearted after the previous chapter.
> 
> lisa needs to have a good laugh.

"Your last name is...Buttfart?" Lisa asks slowly, almost in disbelief.

Bernard sighs and looks down solemnly at his shoes. "Yeah..." He was hoping she'd never have to find out, but it's just his luck that he'd let it slip.

Lisa stares at him for a second. Her mouth turns up at the corners. "Pfft," she snickers, "Bernard Buttfart? Are you serious?" Before he can even respond, she bursts out laughing. For a moment, Bernard is startled. He doesn't think he's ever heard Lisa laugh so loud. It's a pretty sound. He finds himself wishing she'd do it more often. The embarrassment returns, however, when he remembers _what_ she's laughing at it.

"Shut up," he whines, cheeks reddening, "it's not that funny!"

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry." Her expression turns neutral, which he guesses might be as close to apologetic as he's going to get. "I'm sorry that your name is Bernard Buttfart." And then she's laughing again and he knows he should be upset, but Lisa's laughter is melodious. Her smiles are so rare and he can't help but treasure them, even when she's smiling because she's making fun of him.

Maybe having a dumb last name is worth it to see Lisa smile.


	3. stay together for the kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bernard didn't have such a great relationship with his family either.

Dad's gone.

Bernard doesn't know how to feel about it. When Dad's pissed off, he usually just storms off to the garage. Bernard can almost always hear the sounds of bottles breaking and a fist pounding against the wall. When Dad's in a mood like that, Bernard knows better than to bother him—he had to learn that lesson the hard way.

This time, he just left. Left as in he said "Fuck this", took his keys, and drove off somewhere. Bernard doesn't know how to feel. Should he be relieved? Maybe things will be quieter around the house now that he's gone. Should he be sad? Dad's not a very nice guy, sure, but he's still...well, Dad. It's stupid to even dream, but there's some tiny part of Bernard that hopes maybe one day his parents will try to fix their marriage. They'll glue the broken pieces and fill in the jagged crevices. They won't yell at each other, they won't throw things, they won't make Bernard the unfortunate spectator. Dad'll take more days off from work, Mom will stop drinking so much, and they'll go to the park like all the other normal families. 

Sneaking out always makes him feel better. It's habit by now. Bernard opens the door and tiptoes out of his room, carefully closing his door so that the hinges don't creak. He maneuvers past all the squeaky steps on the hardwood floor, keeping his breathing low and quiet as an extra precaution. 

When he steps into the living room, he's surprised to see that Mom's up. The lights are on, but they always are, because she has a habit of forgetting to turn them off before she goes to bed. It didn't occur to Bernard that she could be awake. He prepares to make a quick retreat to his room, but she glances over and catches him before he can.

There's an empty bottle of schnapps on the coffee table. Mom's clutching a second one, and it looks like she already took a good couple of hearty swigs. In the light, Bernard can see the dried tear tracks on her cheeks and the way her entire body seems to shake. "Baby," she hiccups, "come here."

Bernard does. He comes closer until he's standing next to her, and he can smell the sharp peppermint coming off her in waves. He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything. He just keeps his mouth shut.

"Come sit on Mama's lap, baby." Bernard seats himself down on her lap, just like she told him to. "There we go." She uses her unoccupied hand to comb her fingers through his hair, her long nails scratching at his scalp. "Your father's a right bastard for ditching us, y'know that? Lives up to his name. Dick Buttfart." Bernard remains silent, but Mom keeps rambling anyways. "No real man ever just leaves his family to fend for themselves, no matter how sour things get." She puts the bottle to her smudged lips and swallows deeply. 

"He's not ever coming back?" Bernard asks before he can stop himself. He hates how small his voice sounds. He's almost nine, he needs to stop acting like a baby.

Mom laughs. The sound of it is crushingly bitter. Bernard feels himself shrink. "I don't know. He didn' pack his shit up. Maybe he'll be back." She takes another drink, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. Her breath reeks. "He's still a sonuvabitch. Goddamn. He's still a sonuvabitch."

"Do you love him?" Bernard knows it's a dangerous question to ask, but he's been wondering for a long time. He's not going to get another chance to ask, and Mom's more likely to tell him the truth when she's the sad kind of drunk.

Mom's fingers tighten painfully in his hair. She's not trying to hurt him. Her expression shifts. "Yeah. 'Course I do. He's my husband." She sounds like she doesn't know the answer to that question herself. "I wouldn't have married him if I didn't love him."

Bernard doesn't think you're supposed to call people you love a sonuvabitch. Then again, you're probably not supposed to hurl random objects at them either, or scream at them until your voice gets hoarse. 

"Are you sure?" Bernard hedges.

Mom's face hardens. She takes her hand out of hair, but that's fine with him because his scalp was starting to ache. "I still got my wedding ring on, don't I?" She scowls, leaning back into the cushion and rubbing at her temples. "Go back to bed, baby. We can talk in the morning."

Bernard goes back to his room, but he can't sleep. He sits on his bed with his knees tucked to his chest. Mom turns the TV on and he listens to the distant sound of a game show—The Price Is Right, he thinks. It goes on like that for the rest of the night.

Eventually, pale sunlight peeks in through the blinds. He'll get up soon to make sure Mom is alright.

The door opens, and heavy footsteps follow suit. "For Christ's sake, Diane."

Dad's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bernard's dad is named richard because i thought his dad being called "dick buttfart" would be hilarious.
> 
> this also probably ended up being a lot longer than a drabble, but oh well. also takes place before bernard met lisa.
> 
> i have a lot of headcanons for his family that i might jot down in another collection or something.


	4. you are so sorry, so often

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i know lisa had a closed coffin in canon but i just couldn't get this scene out of my head, i had to write it. apologies if it's a bit more sloppy than my usual work.

Brad regrets not taking painkillers before coming here. It would make this whole affair easier if he did. Anything to numb the pain. He stands at the doorstep of a church, contemplating his decision. Does a coward like him deserve to be here? Would she want him here, after he failed her? 

Well, he made it this far. Too late to turn back now. Besides, wouldn't it be even more cowardly of him to run away? The least he can do is show up to her funeral.

He has to see her one last time.

He takes a step inside and he's surrounded by red walls. It's freezing inside and the thin fabric of his cheap suit does little to shelter him. There's empty rows where family and friends should be, no music playing. It's eerily silent. He wonders if they thought anyone was going to come at all.

"Are you one of her friends?" The old priest standing at the door asks him. "Poor girl...you're the only one that's shown up to the service." 

Yeah, he's one of her friends. Sure. He hardly has the right to call himself her brother anymore. He doesn't respond to the priest. He walks down the aisle and towards Lisa's coffin. He braces himself before he looks down at her. 

Lisa's face is slathered in make-up. They did a good job covering up the ugly cuts on her face, he can barely see them cracking through the foundation. The bruising on her neck from the rope is practically invisible, as are the cuts on her wrists and anything Marty might've done to her. Her necklace had been carefully adorned. They put her in a pretty white dress and some black Mary Janes, too. It's nice to know that she would have clean clothes when they buried her. And that she would take their mother's necklace with her to her grave. God, their mother's necklace...

_"Hey, Lisa." A teenage boy opened the door to his little sister's room. Lisa was sitting on the floor, paging through a book he got her from the library. He didn't know how many times she reread that. He couldn't tell if it was because she really liked it that much or if it was just out of simple boredom. There wasn't much in this house for children to do. "Happy birthday. I got you a present."_

_The little girl in question tilted her head. "What is it?" _

_He held out a necklace in front of her. A black string with a gold cross on it. "It was mom's," he explained, "I was thinking about how you don't really have anything to remember her by. Dad forgot to lock the door to his room today so I went in there to get something for you." It was the bravest thing he did in a long time. Lord knows the beatdown that would've come his way if Marty had caught him. _

_Lisa scrambled up to her feet and snatched the necklace away from him with greedy hands. Her face was lit up like a Christmas tree. She wore the biggest smile he'd ever seen her wear, hazel eyes crinkled up at the corners—she looked like a normal kid on her birthday. Not for the first time, Brad wished things were different. Lisa deserved to be this happy all the time. The look of sheer joy vanished as she looked back up at him, replaced by uncertainty._

_"Are you sure?" She asked, suddenly timid. She held the necklace close to her chest, like she didn't want to give it back even if Brad changed his mind._

_"Yeah, I'm sure. She would've wanted you to have it." Brad reassured her. And he was telling the truth. Their mom was thrilled when she found out she was going to have a daughter, he could remember how she beamed and gushed about how Brad would be the best big brother to his baby sister. Maybe things would have turned out differently for them if Marty died in her place._

_Lisa's big smile reappeared. "Okay. Thanks, Brad. Will you help me put it on?"_

_"Sure, Lisa."_

Dragged out of the past and back into the present, Brad stares down at the corpse of that same girl. Tears flow down his cheeks, soaking his beard. He doesn't know when he started crying. He lowers his head and presses a gentle kiss to her cold forehead. _I'm so sorry, Lisa._

He wishes he could bring himself to say it out loud.


End file.
